One. It's a race. NASCAR.
Breakfast in Monaco. Lunch in Indianapolis. Dinner in Charlotte.
There are flowers. Marys are bloody. Beer.
This is the highest of holy days in racing. There is a motorsports convergence that does more often than not. Thank you for the power. The perfect Sunday when one, two, and three signature events snap into alignment, riding the ragged edge of speed from the time that those of us in the United States wake up until we collapse back into our pillows like it was a SAFER barrier. A person could start and end their day watching racing while lying in bed. Why not?
Maybe you don't care about auto racing. Maybe you don't know a nut from a walnut. You can still go into a full fuel immersion on Sunday. Take a second. Only real race cars, even three very different types of race cars, can provide the kind of sensory overload that only real race cars can.
So, hold the wheel. Drop the hammer. There is a polloi and boogity.
All the stunts that Tom Cruise did in Top Gun: Maverick, as well as the stunts that Bruce Wayne did in The Batman, or the stunts that Spider-Man pulled off. These racers do that stuff all the time, and on Sunday they will do it all at the same time.
90 racers, 678 laps, 1,267.1 miles. There are three big trophies.
The Monaco Grand Prix starts at 8:55 a.m. The program is on the cable network, ESPN. Since 1929, race cars have snaked their way through the streets of Europe's most glamorous adult playground, streaking by casinos, skating around fountains and blazing alongside a seemingly endless navy of yachts, upon which men and women bathe in the sun and breathe in the ethanol. The race was first organized by royalty under the watch of Prince Louis II. The streets of Monte Carlo were used to lay out a course for the production of 140 horsepower cars. Drivers in dress shirts, their entire upper body exposed, slinging their automobiles on tiny tube tires through the hard right-hand of the Saint Devote, sliding their way through the Station Hairpin and launching themselves out of Le Tunnel to hurtle downhill toward a vicious chicane that threatened to
The same tunnel was used by Charles LeClerc as he exited during the Saturday practice sessions.
More than 300,000 fans will be listening and watching the action from Monaco as they file into the infield of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on Sunday for the 106th running of the Indianapolis 500. There is no hyperbole involved in either the title of the greatest Spectacle in Racing or the title of the Racing Capital of the World. The place known as "The Speedway" opened in 1909 with a balloon race and was built by four entrepreneurs to showcase the American automobile industry.
On Memorial Day 1911, a noisy, smoky field of 40 machines producing 100 horsepower barreled through the first turn at speeds approaching 80 mph, wrestling steel Marmons, Fiats and Buicks around the teeth-chattering surface made up of 3.2 million bricks. A group of cars made it to the end, but only one, a bright yellow car by Ray Harroun, led to the checkered flag.
Scott Dixon drove into that same first turn in his Honda during last weekend's pole session.
The people are going to sing with the band. They will applaud the hundreds of military members who march down the pit lane. The U.S. Air Force will rocket over them. They will weep when the lone trumpet player fills the air with a haunting yet perfect rendition of "Taps" to honor those who died in the defense of freedom.
After watching the victor douse himself in milk, a tradition that dates back to 1936, the Indy 500 fans will go back to their campsites, hotel rooms and bars to watch the Coca-Cola 600. In 1960, ornery future billionaire Bruton Smith and even more ornery future NASCAR Hall of Fame driver Curtis Turner bulldozed and dynamited a 1.5 mile oval into the countryside north of Charlotte, then a sleepy Southern town. 500 miles was the limit of where stock car racers could go and it was still a new concept. Smith and Turner decided to make their race 600 miles long in order to steal some attention from Indy and Daytona. It was called the World 600. They wanted to run it on Memorial Day weekend to compete with Indianapolis, but the track was not ready. On June 19, 1960, an endless line of 60 stock cars, many fitted with cow catchers and chicken wire to ward off chunks of crumbling asphalt, hauled off into Turn 1 at speeds of 140 mph. The race was won by Joe Lee Johnson in a Chevy, outdistancing a field of cars that failed to finish.
The field of 40 will be pushed into the first corner by 700hp and at speeds of 180 mph.
Is Monaco too old, slow and crowded? Yes. The boss of Red Bull said that.
Is the Indianapolis Motor Speedway layout designed for tin-can jockeys at a time when fans still used horse-drawn buggies to get to the track? Probably. During Friday's final practice, Herta's upside-down crash reminded us that we are watching rockets that are barely being held to the ground.
In the age of NASCAR's bulletproof Next Gen car and ultradurable engines steered by ultrafit drivers, is 600 miles the true measure of endurance that it used to be? Not a chance. Are the days of full-throated, combustion-powered, fossil-fuel-based automobiles headed to the same fate as the dinosaurs? Absolutely.
The point is not that. This Sunday is still cool. It's cool that when Hollywood makes a movie about this day, it calls in the legends. The first 15 minutes of the Monaco Grand Prix are better than most racing flicks. Clark Gable and Paul Newman were in Indy. And Charlotte? It had Elvis (speedway).
Monaco, Indy and Charlotte are not revered because of what they are now. They are cherished because they have always been. If there is a lick of sense inside the helmets of those who run racing, that will never change. It should not change. This day is a reminder. The best of days.
The day when Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton can travel to Monaco and see the same view as they do now. The day when Marco can follow in the footsteps of his grandfather Mario and father Michael. When A.J. Foyt can shake hands with Rick Mears, and when the living members of the four-time winners club can connect the 500 from 1963. The day when a NASCAR field full of 20-somethings will roll down the same Charlotte backstretch where David Pearson, Richard Petty, Darrell Waltrip and Dale Earnhardt all streaked toward victory.
Ninety racers want to win a trophy on Sunday. They want to know how they compare to their forefathers. These races and places are measuring sticks. Every winner. Every loser. Every racer has died. This day is about them all.
It is about wearing a wreath in Monaco. It is about hugging the Borg-Warner trophy. It is about hugging your loved ones and doing the hat dance in Charlotte.
Speed Street. Back Home Again in Indiana.
Sir. Super Tex. The ruler.
One. It's a race. NASCAR.
Drivers, start your engines. Start your remotes. Everyone start your memories. All. Day. It was long.
All Rights Reserved © 2024
